


Right Number

by kupur



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Big Steve basically, Bucky always picks the wrong guys, Bucky can't remember anyone's phone number, Dating, Gay Bucky Barnes, M/M, Online Dating, Phone Calls & Telephones, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Queer Steve Rogers, Steve gives advice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2016-08-16
Packaged: 2018-07-29 09:22:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7678975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kupur/pseuds/kupur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three times Bucky accidentally calls the wrong number, and the one time he doesn't.</p><p> </p><p>[It seems like every time Bucky tries calling Natasha to beg out of a date, he ends up dialing Phone Guy's number instead. || Wrong Number AU]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Slide To Answer](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4433063) by [relenafanel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/relenafanel/pseuds/relenafanel). 



> Inspired - a lot! - by relenafanel's own "wrong number" Stucky AU. Loved it and decided to do my own spin on it.

"Natasha! I cannot believe I let you talk me into this!"

The date is going bad, so terribly bad that Bucky has to beg off of it, saying that he has to use the bathroom while plastering what he hopes was a smile onto his face. Now he's hidden in the back of the restaurant, clutching the handle of a payphone and sheepishly hissing into the receiver. His own phone is still at the table with his date — _Martin? Mark?_  — because Bucky could be uncomfortable enough to play the lame excuse of having to use the bathroom ten minutes in, but he couldn't stomach the idea of just grabbing his things and bolting from the restaurant.

The line is silent. Bucky curses in Russian and then wails, "This is going terribly! He's already started playing footsie with me under the table and we haven't even gotten our drinks yet!"

It's true; they're barely ten minutes into the date, not counting the time Bucky's been hiding in the back corner by the bathrooms. They'd met and sat down — and then the guy had smirked at him and started rubbing his foot over Bucky's calf. Bucky had stood it for a few minutes, but as soon as the waitress left with their drink orders, Bucky was out of his seat, stuttering something about _I drank a lot of water earlier_ and _I need to freshen up_ and _I swear I'm not ditching you._

"Okay," eventually says a voice that is decidedly not Natasha Romanoff's. It sounds neutral, if not a little amused, and if Bucky weren't so panicked about the way the date was currently going he'd probably slam down the receiver and run, but since he's all out of quarters, he just puts a mortified expression on his face and squeezes the receiver in his hands a little tighter. The voice continues, "I'm not Natasha, so I think you probably have the wrong number, but I think I can help you out anyways."

[Bucky is mortified. He can feel his cheeks turning red and this cannot be happening, no way, he did not just accidentally say all that to a stranger.]

He's just spilled about his date to a complete stranger — a stranger with a deep voice bordering on husky that makes Bucky's toes curl a little, but a stranger nonetheless — and now said stranger is willing to help him out. Bucky lets out a silent groan and bangs his head against the concrete wall that's next to his head. He tries to remember to breathe and takes a minute to let his eyelids flutter closed. Pitifully, he says, "Yeah?"

"Sure," says the guy on the other end of the line. He sounds nonchalant, as if giving dating advice to complete strangers every Friday night is normal for him. Bucky's almost relieved. The guy says, "So tell me what's up."

This drives Bucky out of his shell. All at once, Bucky starts blabbering, trying to fit in as much as he can before he has to return to the table with footsie guy. "I met this guy on dating site — don't ask — and he said he was just looking for a friend! So I said yeah, sure, we can go out for dinner, and now he's practically eye-fucking me from across the table!" he hisses out. He tilts his head away from the wall, glancing around the line of payphones to check on his date. The guy is still there, tapping away idly on his phone and seemingly not looking around to see why Bucky hasn't returned even though it's probably been something like ten minutes since he left the table.

"So why don't you just leave? Say you got sick or something," the guy offers. He sounds amused.

[Bucky wishes it was that easy.]

Bucky groans out loud this time and leans up against the wall again. He takes in the dirty yellow wallpaper on the opposite wall and frowns. "I can't," he argues. It's pitiful; he's a twenty-five year old man and he still can't beg off of a date correctly. "He asked for a bottle of the house wine. The _house wine._ And he's paying for dinner. I can't just run out on him!"

He can hear the guy on the other end of the line chuckle. He sounds even more amused when he says, "You know that the house wine's the _cheap_ stuff, right?"

Bucky's jaw drops. No, he did not know that. He even says so to his mystery advice-giver: "No, I did not."

The guy — Bucky's christening him Phone Guy now — laughs again. It's a full-bellied laugh, real, and Bucky can feel something bubble up in his stomach when he hears it. It almost makes him want to join in laughing, too, but he sobers up when he remembers that he has a very hands-on date waiting for him not even a hundred yards away, and he puts his frown back on his face. He chastises Phone Guy, "No, stop laughing!" He has to bite his lip, lean out again to look at his date and make sure he's still preoccupied, before asking meekly, "So what do I do? The wine's at the table now. I can't just leave the wine at the table!"

Phone Guy laughs again. He's not even trying to give advice now. But eventually his laughter dries up and he says, seriously, "Drink the wine and then tell him you have to go."

Bucky sneaks another peek at his date — Footsie, he nicknames — and grimaces. "And say what? I'm not good at lying."

Another laugh from Phone Guy. "If you want, I can call you back in five minutes," he offers. "And you can make up an excuse about why you have to go."

It's a good idea. Bucky perks up at it until he remembers that he's currently on a payphone and that he's really not into the whole 'giving a stranger his number' thing, and then he frowns. "I can't," he begrudgingly says. "I'm on a payphone and—"

Another chortle of laughter erupts from the phone, cutting off Bucky's speech. It's another full-bellied laugh, so real and unpatronising, but Bucky for the life of him can't figure out why Phone Guy is laughing until Phone Guy says, between bouts of laughter, "You're on a payphone? You can ditch out to use a _payphone_ to call a stranger but can't just _ditch out?"_ He sounds incredulous.

[Bucky has to admit Phone Guy has a point.]

"First off," Bucky says, letting himself pout, "I didn't mean to call _you,_ I meant to call Natasha. And second, I told him I was going to use the _bathroom,_ not that I was going to use the payphone by the bathrooms."

"Jesus Christ." Phone Guy's still laughing a little. He has to take a moment to compose himself before he speaks again, and when he does he's back to speaking seriously. He says, "Okay, okay. How about you just give me your cell number then, and I'll call you in five minutes on that and give you some excuse so you can beg off and not have to deal with your date and his feet."

Oh. Bucky had almost forgotten about that; he'd gotten more immersed into his and Phone Guy's conversation in the past five minutes than he had gotten during his and Footsie's conversation online. "Yeah, okay," he says, finally admitting defeat. He starts to lean out again, trying to make sure that Footsie's still sitting at their table sipping on his wine and scrolling along his phone. "It's— Wait, he's gone now."

"Really?"

"Yeah." Bucky can't believe his good luck. The table is empty, with the exception of the two wine glasses — both empty, Bucky notices — and Bucky's phone. Footsie is nowhere to be seen, but Bucky can see the checkbook sitting on the table. Bucky hopes the guy already paid, but if he didn't it won't be that big a deal.

He can practically hear the smirk in Phone Guy's voice when Phone Guy says, "He probably figured you climbed out the bathroom window or something."

"Or something," Bucky repeats drily. He can't help the small smile that overtakes his face, though. He tacks on at the end, "Well, thanks for keeping me company, then, I guess."

"Not a problem!" Phone Guy chirps into the receiver. Bucky tries to imagine the grin on Phone Guy's face and fails. He doesn't know what his stranger looks like, can't put a smile on an imaginary person's face.

Bucky doesn't say goodbye, just hangs up the receiver with a loud click and turns to go collect his phone from the table.

 

* * *

 

Bucky returns home that night tired and wet, leather jacket slung over his arm and eyes drooping. It had started raining on his way home, and even running as fast as he could with his jacket over his head hadn't shielded him from the drops. He's drenched, his jeans sticking to his legs and his shirt hanging wetly from his chest. He arrives back at the apartment with his shoes squelching on the floor and his hair dripping large beads of rainwater. He shakes his head as soon as he steps foot into the apartment, flinging water onto the wall.

As if she can hear the minuscule droplets hitting the plaster, Natasha appears. She has a smirk on her face, but it quickly disappears as she takes in Bucky's wet figure, and then she's frowning. "Barnes," she warns, low under her breath. Her eyebrow is arched; she's not happy. "You had better not be getting my walls wet."

"No, ma'am," Bucky lies. He runs a hand up to his head and pushes some of his wet hair back. A few stringy pieces flop back into his face, but he ignores them in favor of leaning down to untie the laces on his shoes. He pries them off under Natasha's watchful eye and dumps them into the only corner of the apartment that's linoleum. He's never been sure why there's a patch of living room that's cork and resin rather than soft carpet, but he's never questioned it; Natasha likes it, and that's good enough for him.

As soon as his shoes are off, Natasha's smile turns sweet again. She turns around to head into the kitchen, swaying her hips slightly as she walks — nothing provocative, just natural — and calls out behind her, "So, Barnes, how did your date go?"

Bucky trods into the kitchen behind her. She's pulling mugs down from one of the cabinets. Bucky's not sure if she's going to be making coffee or soup, but he doesn't really mind; it was cold outside, and Bucky's chilled down to the bone. Either would be good at this point. "It didn't," he says truthfully, purposefully giving a vague response.

"Hmph," Natasha grunts. She doesn't prod any further, instead choosing to start filling up the tea kettle. She's apparently decided to go for neither coffee or soup but rather for something more along the lines of hot chocolate or tea. Bucky doesn't mind those options, either.

Bucky takes a moment to sit down at the kitchen table and rest his cheek in his palm. He surveys the small room: the floors are linoleum, much like that one section in the living room; there's a giant freezer chest pushed up against the wall and filled with nothing but items from the frozen aisle that Bucky's declared he can't live without; the counters are lined with random items like a Keurig and a loaf of bread and _oh, are those the car keys he's been missing for a week?_

They've been living here for almost a year and a half and still haven't settled in all the way. They don't have a designated shoe pile — "We need somewhere to put our shoes, Natasha!" "We have a place to put our shoes - the floor!" — nor do they have an actual laundry basket. Hell, their kitchen table is a card table they picked up at a yard sale that creaks on its hinges and groans whenever they so much as look at it.

It's pitiful. The whole place is pitiful — there's dirt on the walls that neither of them have bothered to clean and there are holes in Bucky's bedroom wall from back when he had a panic attack and punched it and told Natasha in earnest, "I'm going to fix it, Nat, don't worry."

[He hasn't fixed it yet, but she doesn't go in his room ever, so he's just adopted a don't-tell-Natasha policy.]

[It's pitiful. The whole place is pitiful, but it's less pitiful with all their stuff in it and Bucky thinks it feels like home.]

When the tea kettle whistles, Bucky comes out of his thoughts and glances up at Natasha through thick eyelashes. He watches her as she pours the steaming liquid into the mugs and then says, "He tried to play footsie with me under the table and ordered the house wine."

Natasha brings over the mugs and sits down next to Bucky. She passes over the mug with the cartoon otter on it and keeps the plain white mug for herself; the table creaks ominously under the weight of the mugs and the arm Natasha brings to rest on it, but it holds steady. Natasha brings her mug up to her lips, surveys Bucky with a glint in her eyes, and says neutrally, "You do know that the house wine is the cheap wine, right?"

Bucky throws his hands up in the air, almost on instinct. He's surprised that his mug doesn't get tipped over by his flailing hands. "Yes!" Under his breath, he adds, "I figured it out tonight."

Natasha's got great hearing; she's obviously heard his little side-comment, and she quirks a brow teasingly at him in response. She sips at her tea, making little slurping sounds, and ultimately remains quiet as Bucky tries to figure out what to say next.

Eventually, Bucky says, staring down into his mug and trying not to meet Natasha's reproachful eyes, "I begged off to the bathroom and he left when I didn't come back."

Both of Natasha's eyebrows are raised now; she's surprised. "Really?" she says, and surprise is evident in her voice, too. She takes another sip of tea from her mug and then sets it down. "I've never known you to leave in the middle of a date before, James."

[Natasha's the only one Bucky lets call him James. He doesn't like the name at all, but it feels natural when it rolls off of her tongue.]

"I didn't exactly leave," Bucky haltingly says. "I just... stayed by the payphones and waited for him to leave."

"So you waited for him to think you escaped out the bathroom window?" Natasha clarifies.

"Not on purpose!" Bucky defends. He picks up his mug and takes a long, drawn-out sip. The tea is warm and sweet, just the way he likes it. He lets himself bask in its flavors while Natasha mulls over what to say.

Natasha settles on, "идиот!" and slaps Bucky on the back of the head lightly. It's teasing, but he gets the point anyway. There's a faint smile on her face until the moment when she hunches down a little, gets right in his face, narrows her eyes, and says suspiciously, "Usually you call me when a date's going bad. You didn't call me. Why didn't you call me?" And then suddenly she's ramrod-straight in her seat again, mug clutched in her hands, eyeing him and waiting for him to speak.

> идиот = idiot

Bucky's used to these sudden shifts in Natasha's behavior; he's lived with them for long enough. They'd met in college, in some basic English 111 class that Bucky scoffed at and Natasha made murderous eyes at, and they'd connected instantly, bonding over their mutual hatred of English grammar and writers. When they'd discovered that not only they were classmates but dorm-mates, their bond had grown. And when they'd finally figured out that not only were they dorm-mates but they were next-door dorm-mates, they'd both been ecstatic. They'd switched their current room partners for each other rather quickly — and without telling their D.A. or anyone else, mind you — and had spent their years in college poking fun at each other in Russian and trying to see who could fit the most mini-marshmallows in their mouth without choking.

[Natasha won, much to the chagrin of Bucky. She's never let him live it down.]

[Both of their room partners were terrible — Bucky's was a homophobe and Natasha's couldn't stand her obsessive need to clean — but they don't talk about that.]

So Bucky's used to these shifts, and he's also used to the way Natasha can pick up what he's thinking without him having to say anything. It's uncanny sometimes; other times it's just annoying. But it's what she does, and he loves her — platonically, of course, he's gay with a big capital flamboyant G — and so he puts up with it. And in return she puts up with having to listen to him whine about how terrible online dating is and how he just wants "a nice boy who won't mock me for listening to pop punk and cooking in my underwear."

(All Natasha can say to that is, "You're supposed to be obsessed with boy bands from the eighties and Mean Girls, not chainsaw horror movies and bands with lead singers that wear more makeup than the entire counter at Ulta.")

Natasha's still waiting for an answer, so Bucky pulls himself out of his head again and says sullenly, avoiding her eyes, "I tried to call. I dialed the wrong number." He sips at his drink and continues to avoid her reproachful gaze.

She gets what he means immediately. "You used a payphone? Jesus Christ, Barnes." But she's shaking her head with amusement, so he figures that must count for something. She smiles at him from over the lip of her mug, a quirky grin that means that she thinks he's dumb, but he's "her dumb idiot, so it's okay," so Bucky just smiles back over the lip of his own mug and swallows down the last of his tea.

He figures it's okay to gloat. He sets his mug down on the card table and starts running his fingers over its grimy surface. "The guy who picked up was pretty nice, though," he offers. "He stayed on me with the line, givin' me advice until my date left."

"Until your date thought you ditched him by crawling out the bathroom window," Natasha corrects automatically. She sends him another grin from over her mug.

"Yes, until he thought I ditched him," Bucky concedes. He's smiling, too, unable to stop himself from mimicking Natasha's warm expression.

Natasha sets her mug down on the table and leans forward towards Bucky. She has a mischievous look in her eyes, and that's confirmed when she asks, "Is he the one who told you that house wine is the cheap stuff?"

Bucky throws his hands up again. "Fine. Yes." He sees Natasha's wry expression and points a finger at her mocking face. "No. Shut up."

She's laughing behind him when he leaves the kitchen to head upstairs. He doesn't do anything more than flip her off without looking over his shoulder, but he knows she's probably hooting at that, too.

Bucky falls asleep that night relieved by the fact that the date — or lack thereof — went well.

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Bucky's just about to call it a night and log out of his online dating profile when he gets a message from someone whose username is, quite unoriginally, BrooklynBoy.  
  
It's been two days since the entire Footsie dating mishap and Bucky's been avoiding his computer ever since. He'd continued to be mortified at himself — both for accidentally calling the wrong person to bitch at and for accepting a date with someone whose screen name was BronxFootLover because, really,  he should have known better — until Natasha had finally, _literally,_ given him a kick in the pants. It had hurt — Natasha had always had a strong kick — but it had gotten the point through well enough. Bucky needed to get off his ass and stop moping about and freaking himself out.  
  
[And stop eating all of Natasha's comfort food, but that's beside the point.]  
  
It's nearly midnight when the message pops up. Bucky's half-heartedly expecting some crude message asking him what else his lips are used for, but he's pleasantly surprised when all the message contains is a hello and a smiley emoticon.  
  
[Okay, so yes, maybe one of Bucky's pictures is of himself doing a duck face pose, but he looks _good_ in it, so really, who can blame him for putting that picture up?]  
  
_Hello!_ is Bucky's response to this late-night stranger. He's pleased when he clicks on this person's profile and sees that they're only a few years older than him and just as attractive. He flicks through BrooklynBoy's pictures, ogling the numerous photos of BrooklynBoy's muscular physique and sandy blonde hair. He could sigh dreamily at the photos, but that's too cliche for him, so instead he just smiles at them fondly and clicks back to the web browser tab that contains their — albeit, very short — conversation.  
  
BrooklynBoy's already responded, this time with another smiley face emoticon. He says, _Saw your profile and thought I'd try my luck. Wanna meet up?_  
  
Bucky's a little taken back by the bluntness and sudden turn of their conversation — they've only exchanged two words, for god's sakes! — but he just shakes his head and puts his fingers back onto the keyboard. It's not hard for him to figure out that he should accept BrooklynBoy's offer, so he does. He types out a short response — _Sure. When?_ — and then sits back in his bed again, relaxing against the pillows.  
  
Even without Natasha giving him a kick — it's been hours and his ass is still hurting — Bucky knows that, realistically, he needs to gear up and do something about his pitiful, single existence. He's been out of college for years and has been relationship-less for even longer. Hell, even Natasha — Miss Natasha "I-don't-do-relationships" Romanoff — managed to find someone. And stay with them. And talk about moving in with them.  
  
[She hadn't, of course. She loved Bucky too much to do that.]  
  
In theory, it should be easy for Bucky to find someone  — he has that "tall, dark, and handsome" trope down to a tee. He's got the smarts  — he graduated in the top of his class with a double major. He has a great personality  — he's a good listener, compassionate, and an animal lover. He's perfect, and even Natasha has said so on more than one occasion.  
  
In reality, it's not that easy. While Bucky might be able to get anyone he wants with nothing more than a quick grin and a flutter of his eyelashes, he has high standards  — too high, Natasha has argued  — that make it hard for him to find someone.  
  
[Namely: good grammar, can cook, and can put up with his and Natasha's crazy shit.]  
  
So far, he's been out of luck. No one's managed to meet all three of those requirements at the same time. It's a bummer, really, but Bucky's never taken it to heart before.  
  
BrooklynBoy's typed out another response, causing Bucky's browser tab to start blinking. His response is more than just a few words, just like the last one: _The flashy bar on Main Street? Tomorrow, 10?_  
  
_Sure,_ replies Bucky.  
  
The message is marked as read, and then the little circle next to BrooklynBoy's screen name turns from green to red. He's logged off.  
  
Bucky inputs their date into his phone, sets an alarm to wake him up in the morning, and then shuts down his computer for the night.  
  


* * *

  
  
Bucky wakes up at six to start getting ready for his morning run. It's a routine that's been part of his life ever since he graduated high school. There's just something about getting up and reveling in cold New York air for hours at a time in the dark that makes Bucky relax. The streets are empty, it's quiet, it's peaceful. Running's a favorite pastime of Bucky's.  
  
[Natasha's never agreed with that. She prefers kickboxing to running, which is pretty obvious considering the fact that she kicked Bucky in the ass to get him back into the dating game.]  
  
He likes taking long runs: his usual route is to take laps around the park before heading downtown. It takes him a while — "Three hours!" Natasha had yelled at him the first time he'd arrived back to the apartment after leaving for a run. "You couldn't have left me a goddamn note?" — but he has the endurance to go for as long as he'd like.  
  
It's nearing eleven in the morning when Bucky decides he's reached his running goal for the morning. He's just starting to make his way back to the apartment when his music stops flowing through his ear buds and gets replaced by an incessant beeping noise. Irritated, Bucky yanks his phone out of the pockets of his shorts to see who's calling him. It's an unknown number, so Bucky frowns, but he answers the call anyway. Panting and out of breath, he manages to get out, "H'llo?"  
  
"You're an hour late for our date," comes a sneering voice.  
  
Bucky's frown deepens. He slows down so he's walking at a leisurely pace instead of running and runs a hand through his hair. It's damp and sticking to his face, so it feels nice when it gets brushed out of his eyes and onto the top of his head. "What?" he says. He's partially confused.  
  
"Our date," repeats the voice on the other end of the phone. He still sounds irritated.  
  
It comes to Bucky in a flash. "BrooklynBoy?" he inquires.  
  
When Bucky had woken up that morning, there was another message from BrooklynBoy, asking for Bucky's number. Bucky had given it to him — yes, he'd given a stranger his number, even though he _hates_ giving out his number, but what can he say, he's a sucker for cute boys — and BrooklynBoy had given Bucky his own number in return. Bucky hadn't plugged it into his phone yet because he hadn't thought to.  
  
When the person on the other end of the line sighs emphatically and makes a sound like he's agreeing, Bucky's frown doesn't do anything but deepen some more. He asks confusedly, "I thought we were meeting at ten?"  
  
"We were _supposed_ to," says BrooklynBoy. He sounds a little disgusted now, though Bucky, for the life of him, can't tell why. "At _ten._ It's now _eleven."_  
  
Bucky's eyes bug out a little bit. "You're kidding me, right?" he asks, chuckling a little to hide his uncertainty.  
  
"Why would I be kidding?" BrooklynBoy huffs out.  
  
"It's... I don't know, who goes to a bar at ten in the morning?" Bucky says. He runs his hand through his hair again and wipes the sweat off on a dry part of his shirt. He's nearing his apartment now, so he breaks back into a slow, steady jog. Faster than his speed-walk, but slow enough that he'll be able to continue talking normally on the phone. "I thought you meant ten tonight," he tacks on.  
  
"Why the hell would I do that?" BrooklynBoy says. The disgust is still in his voice, and his tone is taking on something sarcastic. Bucky doesn't like it, and his frown deepens even more.  
  
Bucky's reached his front door now. He digs into his pocket for his house key while he says, "Most people meet up at a bar at _night,_ not in the daytime." He shuffles around in his pocket, brings out his key, and is shoving it into the door when he tacks on, "Look, maybe you should have been more specific or something."  
  
BrooklynBoy scoffs. Bucky can almost imagine him rolling his eyes as well, but he doesn't say anything about it. Instead, Bucky offers, "If you want, I can meet up with you in an hour. I just need to shower, but I can get there around noon."  
  
"Fine," says BrooklynBoy, and then the line clicks dead.  
  


* * *

  
Bucky's busy walking to the bar on Main — okay, so maybe he hadn't gotten in all his exercise for the day yet, but it's beautiful out, so no one can blame him for walking instead of trying to find a parking space — when he digs out his phone again to call Natasha. She'd been out of the house when he'd gotten back and still hadn't returned by the time Bucky was showered, dry, and in clean clothes. She was probably either on a date — with her boyfriend, a really, really nice guy named Clint, and Bucky totally isn't jealous of how cute they are together — or at one of her weekly kickboxing classes.  
  
Bucky chooses to forgo flipping through his contacts to find Natasha's number and instead opens the dialing pad and types in her number. He knows it by heart, and has ever since they'd met.  
  
[He'd love to say he memorized it out of the goodness of his heart, but he can't. In reality, Natasha had forced him to. Which, looking back, was a pretty good idea on her part.]  
  
Natasha picks up almost immediately, but Bucky doesn't wait for her to say anything; instead, Bucky just blurts, "I totally missed my fuckin' date. He meant ten this _morning._ Who the hell goes to a bar at _ten_ in the _morning?"_  
  
There's silence, and then a voice says, "Okay, so, again, this isn't Natasha. And again, I might be able to help you out. Tell me what's up."  
  
Bucky groans out loud but continues walking. Really? He'd misdialed Natasha's number _again_ and managed to get the same guy _again?_ It's bad luck, Bucky tells himself.  
  
"Sorry," Bucky starts. He snarls a lip at himself, mentally conking himself over the head for his incompetency. Maybe Natasha needed to give him another kick in the pants for forgetting her number — which he was supposed to have memorized! — again. "I didn't mean to call you again."  
  
"It's no problem," says Phone Guy. "You said he wanted to go to a bar at ten in the morning? I totally agree — who the hell does that?"  
  
"Exactly!" Bucky exclaims. He keeps walking, having to struggle a little to pass in between a woman pushing a baby stroller and an older man walking with a cane. When he finally gets through, he says to Phone Guy, "He called me to bitch about me missing it. Like, I didn't even know what to say to him!"  
  
"How about, 'Who the fuck goes to a bar at ten in the morning?'" Phone Guy offers. There's something like a smile in his voice.  
  
Bucky chortles. "I did that," he says between his giggles.  
  
"And?"  
  
"And he acted like I was the idiot!" Bucky replies, grinning to himself. Talking with Phone Guy is putting him back in a good mood. "Whatever, though. I'm meeting up with him now, so that should be cool."  
  
"Cool," Phone Guy echoes. "Well, I'll let you go then. Hope it turns out swell."  
  
"Thanks," Bucky says as he reaches the bar. He ends the call just as he reaches for the door, not even bothering with a goodbye.

 

* * *

  
BrooklynBoy is shorter in person than Bucky expected, but he's still pretty tall. He's a few inches shorter than Bucky, and he's got stubble on his chin that Bucky can't decide whether he likes or not.  
  
[Bucky's always liked a clean-shaven guy, but the stubble works so well on BrooklynBoy he might have to change his mind on that respect.]  
  
BrooklynBoy stands when he sees Bucky enter, extending his hand for Bucky to shake. "Justin," he says warmly, a dramatic change in persona from how he was on the phone. Justin gestures back to his table, strained smile on his face. "I got us a table."  
  
"Thanks," Bucky says, shaking the blonde's hand. He takes a seat across from Justin and says, "I'm Bucky."  
  
Justin's eyebrows raise. "Oh. Bucky," he repeats, letting the name drop off of his tongue. He doesn't sound anything more than bland when he says it, which Bucky doesn't think is a good sign. Justin nods to himself, then says, "I ordered us drinks already."  
  
"Okay."  
  
[Bucky does not think this date is off to a good start.]  
  
A waitress — or is it bartender? Bucky can never get it straight, especially when they're not sitting at the bar — comes over with two bottles. Bucky eyes his bottle carefully, then takes an even carefuller sip. It's not his favorite beer — he hates this brand, actually — but he drinks it anyway. He watches Justin survey him from across the table, who is taking long draws out of his own bottle.  
  
"So," Bucky says, trying to start a conversation, "what do you do, work-wise?"  
  
Justin eyes him and sets down his bottle. It settles on the table with a heavy clank. "I'm a fitness instructor," he says plainly, snarling his lip just a little, as if that fact was something Bucky should have already known.  
  
"Cool," Bucky says. When Justin doesn't ask him about his own profession, Bucky decides to move onto his next question. "You have a lot of pictures with kids on your profile. Is—"  
  
"Hate kids," Justin announces. He drops his face into a deep grimace and picks up his beer bottle again. "Hate working with them, hate seeing them. Don't want any."  
  
"I like kids," Bucky offers. He's trying to think up something else to say, but nothing comes to mind.  
  
Justin's sneering again. "Good for you," he says, and Bucky can't tell if he's being sarcastic or not.  
  
[Correction: Bucky is 100% sure that this date is off to a bad start.]  
  


* * *

  
  
"Jesus Christ, Natasha, he was a complete asshole," Bucky complains.  
  
Bucky's walking back to the apartment now, an hour after he'd arrived at the bar, in much lower spirits than when he'd arrived. After their talk about kids had turned into a conversation about other aspects of their personal lives, Bucky had come to the conclusion that Justin — no, BrooklynBoy, Justin was much too personal for his liking now — was not the kind of guy Bucky wanted to be around.  
  
First, BrooklynBoy had ordered another round of beers and had snarled his lip at Bucky when Bucky had tried to say he'd like a different brand. And then BrooklynBoy had turned the conversation on himself, gloating about all his fitness achievements and not letting Bucky get a word in otherwise, giving Bucky glares and just talking louder when Bucky tried to interject. And _then_ he'd had the audacity to ask Bucky if they could go to the bathroom for some — cough cough — _private_ time.  
  
Bucky had ran — quite literally — after that suggestion. He'd said yes, and once BrooklynBoy was off scouting the bathroom to make sure it was empty, Bucky had fled. He'd slapped down a couple of bills to cover his half of the bill and then had darted out of the bar. He hadn't looked back until he was halfway home and was relieved when he looked back and saw that BrooklynBoy wasn't behind him shouting for him to come back.  
  
"He bought shitty beer and talked about himself the entire time," Bucky grouses into the phone. "And then he had the nerve to ask me to blow him in the bathroom! What the hell!"  
  
The line is silent, and then someone says, "Okay, still not Natasha."  
  
"Oh my god," Bucky groans. He can't believe this.  
  
[Well, maybe he can, but that doesn't mean he should.]  
  
Phone Guy continues, "But it looks like you've beat your record of one call a day, so that's something!"  
  
"I'm so sorry," Bucky apologizes. This is the second time he's had to apologize to this guy today and he's not sure if he should be kicking himself in the head or not right now. "I didn't mean to call you again."  
  
"Yeah, you were looking for Natasha again," Phone Guy says, and there's not a hint of malice in his voice. He sounds amused, as if Bucky's whole existence is just one big joke.  
  
[Which it totally is.]  
  
"Again, it's not a big deal," Phone Guy continues.  
  
Bucky rolls his eyes at himself. Phone Guy is, like, the nicest guy in the world and Bucky just keeps on happening to dial his number. It's ridiculous.  
  
[Ridiculously amazing and the best thing to happen to Bucky, but ridiculous nonetheless.]  
  
"I don't want to unload everything on you," Bucky states uneasily. His finger is hovering over the button to end the call, waiting to press down as soon as Phone Guy says something like "Leave me alone" or "I don't want to talk to you."  
  
Instead, Phone Guy laughs into the phone and says, "No, it's okay. Really. I like listening to your dating horror stories."  
  
Bucky can feel a smile start growing on his face again. "Yeah?" he says.  
  
Bucky's almost reached his apartment. It feels like a giant bout of deja-vu from this morning after his run. He's reaching into his pocket for his house keys but can't find them. "Shit," he says out loud.  
  
"What?" Phone Guy is chuckling a little.  
  
"I think I'm locked out of my apartment."  
  
"Ouch, man. That sucks." Bucky can hear Phone Guy suck in a quick breath. "No one's home?"  
  
"Doubt it. Nat's probably out on a date."  
  
"Think hers is going any better than yours did?" Bucky can hear the smile in Phone Guy's voice again. He can't help but to quirk a grin as well.  
  
"Definitely," Bucky says. "She's got an actual _boyfriend._ Ugh, so jealous." He adds the last part under his breath but can tell that Phone Guy hears it by the laugh he receives in reply. Bucky tacks on, "I'll just call her."  
  
"Call her, or call me again?"  
  
"Her," Bucky promises. "I'll click on her contact number this time, promise."  
  
"Okay. So, you gonna tell me how badly this date went south?"  
  
"Sure," Bucky readily agrees. He sits on the stoop outside of his apartment and allows himself to rest his face on his hands. "So, like I said, he talked about himself the entire time. And I found out he hates kids. And dogs. And pretty much everything I like."  
  
"Jesus Christ, what does this guy like?" Phone Guy says, voice full of both empathy and horror.  
  
Bucky finds himself chuckling. "His abs, for one thing," he says sullenly. "And health food. And indie flicks."  
  
"Ew," Phone Guy says. His voice is still full of disgust, but it sounds mocking, unlike the very-real disgust that BrooklynBoy had displayed at Bucky's apparent incompetence at being on time for a date. "Who likes indie films?"  
  
Bucky rolls his eyes and lets himself smile. "I know!" he exclaims. "Action's definitely the way to go! Or zombies! Or horror!"  
  
"Exactly," Phone Guy proclaims. There's a silence, and then he adds on, chuckling, "So you managed to get a date with a health nut with bad taste in everything."  
  
"Basically," Bucky agrees. "I think I'm doomed to being single forever if this is how all my dates end up going."  
  
"No, don't say that," Phone Guy admonishes. "I'm sure you'll find someone eventually."  
  
"Doubtful," Bucky says dryly. He hears his phone beep in his ear and pulls it away to check the flashing screen. Natasha's sent him a text, telling him that she's on her way back to the apartment and should be there in a few minutes. Bucky puts the phone back up to his ear and says nonchalantly, "I have quite the list of requirements for a potential suitor."  
  
"Really?" Phone Guy sounds interested, though Bucky can't really fathom why.  
  
"Sure," he jokes. "Eight feet tall, bearded, eyes I can sink my soul into."  
  
Phone Guy is silent for a minute, but then he bursts out laughing. In between bouts of chuckles, he manages out, "Sounds like you're looking for Hagrid."  
  
"I— What—" Bucky stutters, but then he gets what Phone Guy's laughing at and lets himself smile a little as well. He composes himself, then says, "No, but really. I can't stand a guy who has bad grammar. Or that thinks my name is stupid. Or that hates the things I like."  
  
"Oh? And what do you like?" Phone Guy asks innocently.  
  
"I like putting up with Natasha," Bucky says truthfully. If only she was here to hear him; she'd smile at the way he puts her at the top of her list. (In truth, he's at the top of hers, even above Clint, so it all works out pretty well.) "And I like taking long runs. And I like the quiet."  
  
"Hmm," Phone Guy says. He doesn't say anything else.  
  
Bucky sees Natasha pull into the driveway in her little car — so little, in fact, that Bucky literally can't sit in the front seat without sticking his legs out the windows to fit — so he waves. To Phone Guy, he says, "Hey, Natasha just pulled in, so I'm gonna go before I blurt out any more dating horror stories or stupid facts about myself."  
  
Phone Guy laughs and says goodbye.  
  
Bucky laughs and hangs up.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went through my other chapters and fixed some grammar mistakes. I checked over this chapter so hopefully I'm not as bad here as I was previously!
> 
> Having some formatting trouble, trying to fix it right now. Please bear with me on this!
> 
> Chapter warning: Swearing. A ton more than in my previous chapters, but nothing too heavy.

Sometimes Bucky feels like a teenage girl.  
  
Or, more specifically, the type of teenage girl that gets meme-d and blasted all over the Internet: a Starbucks-loving teenage white girl.  
  
He certainly feels like it today. He's standing in line behind a businessman — who's carrying a briefcase and who looks so much more put-together than Bucky does today — and shivering as the A.C. blasts out cool air. _It's the middle of December,_ he thinks to himself pitifully, wrapping his arms around himself. _Who the hell thought keeping the temperature freezing was a good idea? It's supposed to snow today, Jesus Christ!_  
  
But he needs his daily coffee, so he sucks in a breath, plasters a frown on his face, and starts hopping from foot to foot to keep his blood circulating and work up some heat.  
  
After the businessman is finished placing his order and has moved up in line to wait for it — "Black coffee with a scone, please," he'd said, frowning to the barista — Bucky steps forward. He's rubbing his hands together now, not even looking up at the guy who's standing in front of the register. All Bucky says is, "Pumpkin spice latte. Venti. Extra whipped cream. And can you add a shot or two of espresso, too?"  
  
[That's it — his drink choice totally confirms that he's a teenage girl.]  
  
"That'll be $7.22," the bored guy in front of the register says. "Can I get a name for that?"  
  
"Bucky," Bucky says absently, digging around in his pocket for his wallet. He fumbles around for a minute before pulling it out, then flips it open, looks inside, and swears: "Дерьмо!"

> Дерьмо = Shit

"Is there a problem?" asks the cashier. He still sounds bored, and that just makes Bucky's grimace grow deeper. "$7.22."  
  
"I know," Bucky snaps, looking up at the cashier. The guy's pimply, looks like he's still in high school. It does nothing for Bucky's mood. He catches a glimpse at the watch on his wrist — 11:47, shit — and snarls a lip at himself. He tilts his head back down to shuffle at the pockets of his wallet some more, then lets out a groan and says again, "I know. Just— Cancel it. I forgot my debit."  
  
The cashier — his nametag says Zach — gapes at him a moment before grimacing and tapping the keys on his register. Bucky's sure he's one keystroke away from canceling his order — _At least they haven't started making it yet_ , Bucky thinks to himself glumly — and he's ready to turn away from the counter, mentally beating himself in his head for forgetting his card, when a voice from right behind him says, "I'll get it for you, man."  
  
Zach the Starbucks cashier pauses, then says, "It's $7.22."  
  
Bucky's ready to snap again, but holds his tongue instead. The voice from behind him — a man, if the deepness to his voice is any indication — chortles a little and then says, "Add a tall dark roast, no room. Please. Under Jonathan."  
  
Bucky doesn't bother to listen to what the total is; instead, he wanders over to the other side of the counter to wait for his drink to be made. When it's finally slid over to him, Bucky picks it up to take a long sip out of it. He's delighted to find that while he can taste the espresso shots they're not too overpowering. (He'd had that problem last time and had been in a bad mood until the espresso had finally kicked in fifteen minutes later.) However,  he's dismayed at the name the barista has scrawled onto his cup — although legible, 'Rusty' is not his name. He's not even sure how the barista managed to get Rusty from Bucky.  
  
He doesn't linger on the thought for too long, though, because the guy who paid for him — Jonathan, Bucky remembers — sidles up next to Bucky to wait for his drink. It comes readily enough, and Jonathan takes it with a small smile and a "Thank you" before turning to survey Bucky.  
  
He's attractive, Bucky has to give him that. He's Bucky's height, with short brown hair and bright blue eyes that skim over Bucky's physique without shame. He's lean, somewhere between skinny and muscular, nothing like Bucky's type at all. He's grinning, though, a leer that Bucky can't stop staring at.  
  
[And maybe he also can't help staring because this guy has tan skin that Bucky would just love to run his tongue over, but that's a whole other story.]  
  
"Jonathan," the guy greets, holding out the hand that isn't gripping his cup of coffee. "I paid for your coffee."  
  
Bucky takes his hand, shakes it while taking another sip of his drink. "I know. Thanks."  
  
"You're welcome. So, how about taking me to dinner to pay me back for it?"  
  
Bucky startles, nearly choking on his drink. Wow — this guy is definitely forward. Bucky can't decide if he likes that trait or not, but he lets a grin creep up on his face and says, "Sure. When?"  
  
It's Jonathan's turn to look a little startled now, like he can't believe that Bucky's actually accepted his dinner-slash-date request. He blinks a little, then takes a long sip from his cup before saying, "How about the Applebee's over on the west side of town? Six?"  
  
"Sure," Bucky agrees. He takes another look at his watch — 11:55. "Oh, ебать меня," he swears at himself. To Jonathan, he says, "Look, I gotta get back to work. See you later."

> ебать меня = fuck me

 

* * *

  
  
Bucky returns to the office in a considerably greater mood than when he'd first left. High off of espresso and cinnamon, all he does is smile lopsidedly while his immediate boss reams him out for coming back from his break late — "I'm sorry," Bucky apologizes half-heartedly — and doesn't even mind the fact that his cubicle-mate has stolen his lucky pen again.  
  
Bucky's first call of the day — he does tech support over the phone, which pays badly but is pretty fun — is a guy who is having trouble connecting to the Internet. Bucky thinks it'll be a pretty simple fix, so he pulls the guy out of the waiting pool and brings up his file. When the call finally connects, Bucky chirps happily, "Thank you for holding. My name is James. How may I help you today?"  
  
[Bucky always uses his birth name during calls — it keeps the creepers from being able to find him on Facebook and stalk him.]  
  
"I can't connect to the Internet," comes the reply.  
  
"I'm sure we can get that fixed for you," Bucky says, keeping his voice sounding upbeat. "What have you tried already?"  
  
"I unplugged it and plugged it back in."  
  
"Okay," Bucky says pleasantly. "How long did you wait before plugging it back in?"  
  
"Um... Like three seconds? I don't know."  
  
"Can you unplug the router for me again? Wait thirty seconds before plugging it back in again," Bucky advises. Rebooting the router and letting it cycle usually solves most Internet connectivity problems — and, for as easy as it is, it's usually the last thing people think to try. It's the first thing Bucky suggests when he hears that someone can't connect to the Internet. It's saved his life numerous times.  
  
"Wait, the router? What's that? I've been unplugging the computer."  
  
Bam. Good mood dead.  
  
This is how most of Bucky's calls for the rest of the day go — easy solutions that people can't seem to figure out. It makes Bucky want to pull his hair out, but he just grins and bears it. He loves his job, he really does, even if he wants to put half of his customers in choke-holds for not knowing how to restart the computer without yanking the cord or how to go into system settings. Really, he does. He's loved computers ever since he was a kid, and this job just milks his love for it — he gets to do what he loves for eight hours a day.  
  
[And for minimum wage, but it's not like he's in it for the money anyway.]  
  
By the time his second break of the day comes around — "You better not be late again!" warns his boss — Bucky's mood is low again. Not too low, though, because there's still a small spring in his step as he walks to the cafeteria. It's kind of routine; during his morning break he gets coffee, and during his afternoon break he grabs a sandwich or something for lunch.  
  
He's halfway through a ham and cheese sandwich — which isn't his favorite, but it'll do — when he digs out his phone to start flipping through it. No one's called him or texted him, which isn't abnormal, but it makes him frown anyway. It's not like he was expecting a bunch of missed calls — outside of Natasha and the dating website, he's really not a sociable person — but it's still a little gut-wrenching.  
  
Instead of pondering over why he's such a loner — and he knows if Natasha heard that she would whack him on the back of the head and tell him he's not — he pulls up his texting app to send Nat a message. _Got a date 2night_ , he writes, thumbing a smiley-face emoticon to go along with his words.  
  
He's almost not expecting a reply — Natasha's got her own job teaching self-defense classes — so he's surprised when one comes through only a minute later. _Are they cute?_ she asks; then, a few beats later, _Do I need to give them the shovel talk?_  
  
Yes _they're cute_ , Bucky writes back, _and no u don't need 2 give_ talk _._ First _date so._  
  
Natasha doesn't reply, so Bucky figures that she's gone back to teaching her class. He finishes off his sandwich, gulps down the last of his water bottle, and is on his way back to his cubicle when his phone chimes again: _Put a sock on the door n wrap your dick_ is Natasha's inelegant response.  
  
Bucky snorts before he can catch himself and pulls his headphones on with a grin on his face.

* * *

  
  
Applebee's is great. Jonathan is great. He's all smiles and stories, infatuating Bucky with every word that comes out of his mouth. He's a year younger than Bucky and is a chef at some fancy restaurant on the east side of town that Bucky will never be able to afford. He's an avid hiker, has a dachshund named Max — short for Maxine, of course — and loves chick flicks. So far, he's ticked off one of Bucky's major requirements for a boyfriend. Bucky thinks he's in love.  
  
When the waitress comes around to take their orders, Bucky has to tear himself away from hearing one of Jonathan's college stories — the one where he'd drunkenly tried to make a mug brownie and caused the entire dorm to have to evacuate because he forgot to take the metal spoon out of the mug — to ask the waitress for a "Whiskey Smash, please, with extra ice." Jonathan orders a beer with a pleasant smile on his face.  
  
The conversation is easy-going. It flows so smoothly it feels like they've known each other for longer than just this morning. Jonathan regales Bucky with stories about ridiculous orders he's received, and Bucky tells Jonathan about his tales from tech support, causing Jonathan to laugh again and again. Bucky's quite pleased at this; when he tells Natasha about old ladies who don't know what a mouse is, she usually keeps her face blank. Jonathan's busy laughing his ass off.  
  
When their entrees arrive — Bucky's got a steak and baked potato, and Jonathan had chosen the rack of ribs — they turn the conversation to their friends and families. Bucky rattles off about Natasha, telling Jonathan over chortles about her incessant need to keep the toilet sparkling and the dishes in the kitchen clean. He talks about his sister Rebecca and how, when they were children, they used to entertain themselves in church by doodling in the bibles.  
  
[Their parents hadn't been amused by them when they eventually found out.]  
  
In return, Jonathan talks about how his mother makes a pie for Christmas every year — "It's delicious, Bucky, you wouldn't believe it" — and how his brother gives him a noogie every year for his birthday instead of the traditional birthday spanking. He giggles over telling Bucky about how he once put a whoopie cushion under his teacher's chair in primary school, and Bucky returns by telling him how he once pranked his principal.  
  
All in all, it's a nice night. Bucky is completely infatuated by Jonathan and says such: "I'd really like to see you again," he expresses while they fork at the desserts they'd ordered. "I'm having a really good time tonight."  
  
"Me, too," Jonathan says. He's smiling and leaning forward, staring at Bucky with those warm blue eyes of his. Bucky is 100% sure they're about to kiss, but then Jonathan abruptly says, "I'll be right back. Gotta use the restroom." He shoots Bucky and apologetic smile, then gets up and starts walking towards the back of the restaurant.  
  
Bucky doesn't mind. He keeps picking at his dessert — the Blue Ribbon Brownie Bite, because, really, he can't resist chocolate and ice cream even if he's full of steak — and pulls out his phone to check the time. It's not even eight o'clock, so Bucky figures that they're making good time. He starts planning out the rest of the night in his head while he scoops up a bite of vanilla ice cream: they could take a walk, burn off some of the bajillion calories they undoubtedly just ate, and maybe talk some more. And then Bucky would invite him back to his apartment and they could—  
  
The waitress knocks him out of his thoughts. "Here's the check, sir, whenever you're ready." She smiles at him, and he grins back, wide and happy.  
  
He gets lost in his thoughts for a few more minutes, waiting for Jonathan to come back from the bathroom. When the waitress comes back a second time, questioning if he needs anything else, Bucky just shoots her a lazy smile and says, "No, I'm just waiting for my date to come back to the table."  
  
The waitress's smile is wavering this time around. "Your date? Oh, he left a few minutes ago."  
  
"What?" This knocks Bucky out of his stupor. "Are you sure?"  
  
"I think so." The waitress's eyebrows knit together. "Brown hair, blue shirt, leather jacket? He left out the side door maybe five minutes ago."  
  
His smile immediately drops off of his face. Good mood demolished, completely gone. He runs a hand through his hair. "Вы чертовски шутишь?" he mutters to himself angrily. He should've known this was too good to be true. To the waitress, he says, "Never mind, then. I'll be ready in a minute."

> Вы чертовски шутишь? = Are you fucking kidding me?

  
He pulls the check towards him; he hadn't bothered to check it, too busy waiting for Jonathan to come back to the table so they could discuss how to split it. When he sees the number, he hisses; between their drinks, the appetizer they'd split, their entrees, and their desserts, the bill's nearly $80 for the two of them.  
  
[ _There goes my phone for a month_ , Bucky thinks miserably.]  
  
Bucky pays the bill, shoves the rest of his brownie in mouth, asks for a box for Jonathan's dessert — he'd taken a big bite out of it, so it's not like Bucky can just return it to the kitchen and get it knocked off of the bill — and then high-tails it out of the restaurant. He's fuming. As soon as he's out the door and heading towards his car, he yanks out his phone and dials Natasha's number. When she picks up, he roars angrily, "That Подонок played the bathroom card and left me with the bill!"

> Подонок = fucker

  
While waiting for an answer, Bucky climbs into his car and turns the ignition on. He starts thumbing through his pile of CDs, searching for something loud and angsty, and tacks on, "Eighty bucks. How the fuck does someone manage to rack up a bill that high?"  
  
He finally finds a good CD and is sticking it into the slot when the person on the other end of the call says amusedly, "I take it you were looking for Natasha again."  
  
_Jesus Christ_ , Bucky thinks to himself. Out loud, he grumbles, "This is the worst day of my life."  
  
Phone Guy chuckles. "Mine, too, pal," he says. "But I figure yours has been worse than mine. What's up?"  
  
Bucky grumbles some more while he buckles himself up. He shifts the car into drive, flicks on his headlights, and tells Phone Guy, "I met him this morning and he seemed like a really good guy. And then he says he has to go to the bathroom and just leaves me with the bill!"  
  
"Ouch," Phone Guy says empathetically. A pause, then: "How'd he manage to up the bill so high?"  
  
"Beer," Bucky sighs. He stops in front of a red light a little too fast, causing his whole body to lurch forward in his seat. When the light turns green five seconds later, he shoves his foot to the floor. "Like four glasses of it. And the most expensive entree. And the most expensive dessert."  
  
"Ouch," Phone Guy repeats.  
  
"Yeah," Bucky agrees. He reaches another red light and doesn't hit the brakes quite as fast this time. "But at least he didn't eat all of the dessert, so I've got that at least."  
  
"Anything good?"  
  
"Cracker Jack cheesecake," Bucky says. He's never been a huge fan of Cracker Jack, but he's always loved cheesecake, so he hopes they cancel each other out. If all fails, he can just pull off the pieces and just eat the cheesecake; he can put chocolate sauce or something on it, too, for good measure and to give it some more flavor.  
  
"Ew, cheesecake," Phone Guy says.  
  
Bucky cracks a grin, his first one since finding out Jonathan ditched him. "Ew?" he repeats mockingly. "Cheesecake is the best thing ever!"  
  
"Even above chocolate?"  
  
The light flicks green. Bucky pushes down on the accelerator again and puts on his blinker so he can pull onto the highway. "Even above chocolate," he agrees. "Cheesecake is, like, number one."  
  
Phone Guy laughs into the receiver. "Maybe I just haven't found the right cheesecake yet, then," he says. Bucky can hear the smile in his voice.  
  
"Most definitely," Bucky says. "No, seriously. Go try the raspberry swirl over at Junior's on Flatbush Avenue — it's so good it'll make you come your pants."  
  
Phone Guy laughs again. "Is that from past experience?" he teases.  
  
"No."  
  
[Yes.]  
  
"I'll try it sometime," Phone Guy promises. "Just as soon as you tell me more about this failed date. This is what, the third one?"  
  
Bucky runs the numbers through his head. Have there really only been three failed dates so far? If so, he's getting better at this whole dating thing. "Three," he finally confirms. "And... I dunno. He seemed like a really cool guy — I mean, he cooks, for one thing, which is really great, and he thought all my stupid jokes were funny. And he has a dog — a dog — and he minored in English in college and he moved here from California. And he's tan and—" Bucky suddenly realizes he's rambling, so he quickly shuts himself up. He starts focusing on driving again and exits off the highway.  
  
"You were going to bring him home, weren't you?" There's an inquisitive tone to Phone Guy's voice.  
  
"Maybe," Bucky says meekly. He flips his turn signal on again and starts heading down the street the apartment's on. Defensively, he says, "I usually don't bring home guys on the first date."  
  
"Neither do I," Phone Guy says pleasantly. He doesn't sound like he's judging Bucky at all. "But it wouldn't have been bad if you had."  
  
Bucky's reached the apartment by now. He slides into his assigned parking space — basically, anywhere Natasha's car isn't — and flicks off his headlights. He turns off the ignition and stays in his seat as his car gradually dims to blackness. For only being eight o'clock, it's pretty dark. The downside of being winter, Bucky guesses. To Phone Guy, he says, "True." He can't think of anything else to say.  
  
It's silent for a while; Bucky doesn't know what other topics to bring up and Phone Guy seems content with not saying anything as well. Bucky rolls his seat back so he can stare at the ceiling of his car and is dismayed to find that the fabric is starting to droop. He pokes at it while he tries to think of something to say. Eventually, he decides on, "Tell me about yourself."  
  
Phone Guy laughs, the first sound he's made in a while. "Me? Why?"  
  
Bucky pokes harder at the top of his car. "Well, you know so much about me," he concedes, "and I know next to nothing about you."  
  
"That's true," Phone Guy says. "I guess I owe you, huh?"  
  
"Pretty much," Bucky agrees.  
  
Bucky can hear Phone Guy huff a laugh into the phone. "Well, let's see," Phone Guy says. "For one, I'm pretty good at not misdialing my friends' numbers."  
  
Bucky quirks a grin.  
  
"Um. What else? Um. I work from home, usually. I try to stay pretty healthy — nothing like that gym nut you had your last date with, mind you. I, uh, don't have a dog, but I have a roommate named Sam that eats me out of the house just the same," Phone Guy offers.  
  
Bucky's grin grows. "Yeah? Tell me about Sam," he says.  
  
"He works down at the V.A. leading counseling sessions. He's a pretty laid-back guy. Well, most of the time," Phone Guy concedes. "He puts up with me and all my shit, so, you know. He's a good guy."  
  
Bucky doesn't let himself linger on that thought ("all my shit," Phone Guy had said) and instead says, "That's good. Wouldn't want your roommate to be some psycho killer or anything like that."  
  
Phone Guy laughs. "That'd be terrible." He pauses, then adds sneakily, "The police would look at my phone bill and see the last person I talked to is some mook that sucks at getting dates."  
  
Bucky's jaw drops. "You take that back," he ribs. "I can get a date — just can't get a good one."  
  
"Sure," Phone Guy agrees. There's another pause, a long one, and then he says, "Are you back at your apartment already?"  
  
"What?" Bucky blinks. How did he—? Bucky voices it: "How did you...?"  
  
"I can't hear your engine running anymore," Phone Guy admits guiltily. "Sorry."  
  
"No, it's— don't be sorry," Bucky admonishes. He can't understand why Phone Guy's apologizing; why apologize for wondering if Bucky's back from his date gone wrong? "Yes, I'm home. I'm just sitting in the driveway."  
  
The teasing tone's back in Phone Guy's voice: "Forgot your house key again?"  
  
"Fuck you," Bucky shoots back; there's no heat in his voice, though. He can't think of a reason to explain why he's sitting in his car in his driveway at eight at night — he really can't explain it to himself, either — so he just says, "No, there's about a fifty-fifty chance Nat's with her boyfriend, and if they're naked in the living room I don't want you to hear me shriek when I see it."  
  
[It had happened once before. The image is still seared into Bucky's brain: Clint's bare ass pointed in Bucky direction, purple arrow tattooed on his left butt cheek, while Natasha screamed for Bucky to "get the hell out, now!"]  
  
Phone Guy laughs. "I'll let you go, then," he says. "You should get inside before it starts snowing or something."  
  
"Sure," Bucky agrees readily. He starts rolling his seat back up into a ninety-degree angle again, and when he's finished grunting with effort — it uses a crank instead of a lever and it's really hard to twist it at this angle, okay? — he says, "Hey, you wanna know something?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"All this time we've been talking and I still don't know your name."  
  
Phone Guy laughs. "True. Hey, you wanna know something?"  
  
Bucky rolls his eyes and pushes his car door open. "Sure."  
  
"All this time we've been talking and you still don't know how to say goodbye before hanging up."  
  
Bucky's at the front door now. "Oh, fuck you," he says, but there's still no heat in his voice and he's laughing now.  
  
He hangs up.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter!
> 
> Sorry for the long time in between updates! I promise I won't leave you all hanging to see what becomes of Bucky and Phone Guy!


	4. Chapter 4

Bucky hates the holidays.  
  
Don't get him wrong — he's always loved waking up to search for his hidden Easter basket; he's always enjoyed dressing up for Halloween; he's stuffed himself so full of turkey on Thanksgiving Day that he's nearly thrown up more than once in his lifetime. And he's certainly never said "no" to receiving a Christmas present — or two, or six — or getting to dress up a Christmas tree.  
  
So no, maybe Bucky doesn't actually hate the holidays.  
  
No, Bucky just hates Christmas Eve.  
  
It's tradition — it's been so for years — for him to take a day-trip to Green-Wood, just off of 5th Avenue. He always skips breakfast in favor of getting there early to spend a few minutes — or, in one case, a few hours — just staring at the granite and trying to not let the breeze push him around. He might be physically strong, but on the days he goes to Green-Wood, he always feels painfully small, like a breath could push him flat to the ground. Though it never manages to do quite that, the wind — especially in the winter, like it is now — always manages to sting his eyes and whip his tears around his face.  
  
His ma had always loved this part of New York. It was relaxing, she would say, even with the crazy hustle-bustle of traffic, honking cars and loud music blaring from storefronts. She would spend hours walking around aimlessly, kicking up stones from the sidewalk and tramping around in the muddy grassy areas after a rainfall.  
  
[His father would always shake his head at her and mutter affectionately, "Winnie, my dear mud-muffin."]  
  
When Bucky turned five, his mother started taking him on her daily escapades. "James," she'd say, a sparkle in her eye, "let's go out and have some fun!" And they'd tramp around the city, rain boots slicked with mud and coats soaking wet, laughing while they stomped in puddles and got even more drenched.  
  
When Bucky turned ten, his mother started letting his little sister, Rebecca, come along, too, and a year later their father decided to finally join in on the fun as well. As a family they'd wander around the city, letting the sun tan their shoulders and burn their faces, and they'd always come home tired but happy, exhausted but ready for the next day so they could do it all over again. It was a bonding experience, if only because they were too poor to afford to actually go out and do anything more meaningful.  
  
[Bucky never cared. Some of his best memories came from dancing in mud puddles with his ma and Rebecca, singing child songs and tonguing for rain.]  
  
When Bucky turned eighteen — just two days after his birthday, actually — his mother died. And two days after that, his father died as well.  
  
It had been a car accident — they'd gotten hit by a drunk driver going far too fast. They'd ended up in the hospital fighting for their lives, breathing harshly through tubes and getting pumped full of medicine the doctors were hoping would help.  
  
It didn't. Within two days, Winifred succumbed when her heart gave up. George was expected to make a full recovery — the drunk driver had hit Winifred's side of the car, not his — but in the end, he died as well. The doctors called it "broken heart syndrome"; Bucky called it the end of his life.  
  
He'd been left with Rebecca, alone for the first time in his life. He was a newly minted adult and he had nothing to show for it. He sent Rebecca to his grandmother's — she was just a teenager and he could hardly afford to care for himself with his part-time job, much less another hungry person — and tried to figure out what to do with his life.  
  
And he figured it out pretty quick. Tech support at a company that paid for his college degree, because he was poor and practically homeless and turning from the good kind of lean to the not-so-good kind very quickly.  
  
Once he'd picked himself up off the ground and was back on his feet, he made it a tradition: visit his ma and dad every other month on the 24th, the anniversary of their death. He's been doing this for years.  
  
So Bucky hates the holidays, hates that his parents aren't here to celebrate Christmas with him and that tomorrow morning he's supposed to be happy while they lay in holes in the ground and rot.  
  
Green-Wood, the cemetery off 5th Avenue, the street his ma always loved to trod around on, is where Bucky goes on Christmas Eve, wrapped up in around five layers and burning his face with the cold wind. He goes to stand in front of his ma's grave — _Winifred Barnes_ , it reads, _Proud mother and wife_ — and just lets the tears roll, fat, warm globs that fall down his cheeks and streak his scarf. His nose starts to run, but he just lets it, keeping his hands at his sides while he stares down at his ma's tombstone.  
  
_She always loved wandering around this place_ , he thinks to himself dazedly, a thought he has every time he visits.  
  
His ma was beautiful. He can see her face every time he visits, a memory preserved almost eight years ago. He hates that he can remember it so clearly, because every time he remembers it, it just causes the tears to flow more freely.  
  
His dad's tombstone is right next to Winifred's. It, too, is simple: _George Barnes, Proud father and husband_ , it says, written in bold, plain letters.  
  
[Neither tombstone has the year of their death; Bucky doesn't want to remember. It does have the years of their birth, though, because that's the best thing about them.]  
  
Bucky bends into a crouch in front of his mother's tombstone. He reaches out to it, grasping it for comfort and balance. He can bet his eyes are turning red by now with all the crying. He has to gasp for a minute, heavy breaths, before he can get any words out. "Ma, I can't believe you're not gonna be here for Christmas this year, either. It woulda been so great, mom. I saw this great thing over at Macy's—" And he's just blurting out everything that's in his head now, shaking with the effort— "and it was just so you. It woulda looked great with that red dress of yours, the one with the belt. You coulda worn it to the party Nat's having tomorrow— and oh, god, you would love Nat. She's amazing — she keeps my head on my shoulders just as well as you used to — and she woulda loved you, too."  
  
He sniffles, chokes back something else he wants to say, and shuffles around so he can face his dad's grave. He reaches out to grab at it, too. "An' dad, you would be so proud of me, I know you would. I'm finally starting to get my life figured out the way you wanted me to. I swear it. I'm finally starting to pick up the pieces — I'm gonna see Rebecca soon, because I know I haven't been keeping up with her as much as I should have. I know you'd be proud of that." Bucky tries for a smile, but it comes out wavering and unsure instead.  
  
He thinks he's out of words. His throat is closing up again, something that happens when he's said too much for himself to handle. Tears are starting to cloud his vision, so he pulls back to swipe at them with the corner of his sweater. He lets himself fall off-balance to land on his ass on the damp ground. He clutches at his knees, tightens in around himself, and just sits there, staring at the missing half of his family and crying.  
  
Eventually it becomes too much to handle and he stands up. He swipes at the dirt on the rear of his pants, probably smearing it, and rubs away at the tears in his eyes again. He stares down at the headstones one last time, giving them another unsure smile, and says brokenly, "I love you guys. I know I didn't say it enough, but I did. I do. I love you guys so much and I miss you so much more and—" He can feel himself choking up again and chooses to shake his head to clear it before backing away from the graves.  
  
Bucky's standing by the crosswalk when he notices a man exiting the cemetery as well. It's obvious the man's been crying by the way he keeps reaching up to swipe at his face. Bucky's sure he can see the man's chest heaving as well, strained with the effort of staying silent. When the man comes to stand next to Bucky at the crosswalk, waiting for the light to change, Bucky offers up a tentative, "Not the same without them, is it?"  
  
The man regards Bucky from over his sleeve. "Not at all," he agrees, snuffling softly. He closes his red-rimmed eyes in a long blink, making a sound that sounds like a cry when he does so.

  
Neither of them say anything else. Instead, they stand in silence until the crosswalk light changes, and then they cross the street together without looking at each other. When they've finally crossed the street, they find themselves walking in the same direction. By the fifth block they've walked together, Bucky's finding himself slightly more relaxed, the harsh tension in his shoulders mostly gone and his tears faded away. He feels tired, but, then again, he usually does after he visits his parents' gravestones; crying takes a lot out of him.  
  
Bucky doesn't want to go back to the apartment. He knows Natasha will be busy setting up for the party — she'd told him they didn't have to host the party if he didn't want to, but he'd told her it was fine — but he just doesn't feel ready for it. He doesn't want to go home, only to flop face-first onto his pillow and cry some more or pass out into a deep sleep.  
  
When they reach the intersection at the sixth block, Bucky takes the plunge. He makes sure he's in the corner of the stranger's vision before he asks, "I know you don't know me, but I really don't want to be alone right now."  
  
The stranger doesn't look at him. Bucky can see his eyes are still stained red. "Neither do I," the stranger admits, still looking straight ahead at the light. His posture is stiff, strained.  
  
"Do you want to maybe go get something to eat?" Bucky asks tentatively. He can't really believe that he's asking a stranger to breakfast with him, but he's too wound-up and strained to really be thinking clearly. "You don't have to if you don't want to," he adds hastily when the stranger doesn't immediately respond.  
  
The stranger chews his lip, looking like he's lost in thought. Finally, just when the light flicks to say they can start moving along the crosswalk, he turns his head to look at Bucky and says, "I think that's a good idea."  
  
They start walking the crosswalk together again, just like they had for the past few. "I'm Bucky," Bucky says as they walk along the street.  
  
"Steve," the stranger offers.  
  
Somehow they manage to fall into a companionable silence. Together they walk along the streets until they find a cafe that's open, and they find an empty seat among the throng of people. It's not loud, but it's not silent, either; to both of them, it's a godsend — having a little background noise, a buzz in the silence, is welcoming.  
  
A waitress comes over, bright and way too peppy for having to be up at nine in the morning. She has a quirky smile on her face when she asks, "Can I get you fellas anything to drink?"  
  
"Tea's fine."  
  
"Coffee, black, please."  


* * *

  
Eventually they stop their silence and begin taking up conversation. Steve tentatively starts up the chatter by talking about his job — freelancing writer — and how he likes the town (he's only lived here for a few years, a fledgling when you compare it to Bucky's whole life). Bucky returns the favor by telling Steve about his old volunteer job (working at a soup kitchen).  
  
Soon enough they've both brightened up, pinkness flushing their cheeks and eyes no longer bloodshot. Bucky's in the midst of laughing, a full-bellied laugh that has him gasping for air and banging his hand on his knee, when he realizes that they've been at the cafe for over an hour. He's still gasping for air when he finally stops laughing, and he digs out his phone in favor of checking to see if he has any messages.  
  
He does: one from Natasha, reading, _Where the hell are you?_  
  
Bucky sneaks a glance up at Steve — who, he'd realized after he'd gotten into a better mood, is tall and blonde and muscular as all get-out — before begging out. "My roommate," he apologizes, waving his phone around. "She's worried that I died or something. I should call her."  
  
Steve waves him away. "Sure, it's fine," he says. "I'm not your keeper."  
  
Bucky nods and stands up, pushing his chair in under the table, and then heads towards the bathrooms in the back of the building. It's almost reminiscent of the time Bucky first called Phone Guy — except this isn't a date, not at all, just Bucky hanging out with a guy he found in the cemetery — and it makes him smile. He dodges into the bathrooms — no payphones here — and locks himself in a stall for some modicum of privacy. He dials Natasha's number.  
  
"Barnes."  
  
[He's almost sad he hadn't misdialed her number again.]  
  
"I'm okay, I swear," he defends. "I decided to go get something to eat."  
  
"You never eat after... going there." She sounds suspicious, voice low.  
  
Bucky shifts uncomfortably on the toilet seat. Maybe sitting down wasn't a good idea. He doesn't move to stand up, though. "I wanted company, and there was another guy there," he confesses.  
  
"So what you're saying is that you're eating brunch with a stranger, then?"  
  
He mulls it over in his head. "Pretty much," he confirms.  
  
Natasha sighs into the receiver. "And you think that's a good idea?"  
  
"I haven't died yet, so..."  
  
"Well," Natasha drawls sarcastically into the receiver, "if you do, make sure to tell him not to shoot you in the head. Wouldn't want to mess up that pretty face for the funeral ceremony."  
  
[Anyone else would think she's being insensitive by making a murder joke following Bucky's cemetery time, but he just takes it in stride. He thinks jokes like that are funny no matter the day.]  
  
"Ha ha," Bucky says. "It's cool. He's cool. His name's Steve."  
  
"Steve, huh?" Bucky can almost imagine her lips curling into a grin. "Is he cute?"  
  
Bucky takes a moment to think about it. Steve is gorgeous, sure, with a sharp jaw line and plump pink lips and big expressive eyes. And he's certainly got the body — Bucky's sure those muscles outdo his any day. And he's tall, just like Bucky likes it (because maybe he likes being the little spoon, but it's not like he's going to admit it). "Very," he finally agrees.  
  
Natasha laughs into the phone. "Are you hiding in the bathroom on your date?" she teases.  
  
"It's not a date," Bucky says defensively. "We're just getting breakfast, and look— I don't even know the guy. We'll probably never see each other again."  
  
"True. Well. Back to what you were calling for — how much longer do you think you'll be out? I need to start getting the apartment ready. I mean, unless you want to skip the party — I can do that, nothing's set in stone."  
  
"Nat, I said it was fine. Have the party. I know you've been looking forward to it. I'm fine."  
  
"Good. Stay fine," she says, and then she hangs up the line with a loud click.  


* * *

  
Bucky heads back to the table in high spirits. No higher than when he'd left, but high nonetheless. Steve is still sitting at the table, starting on his second cup of tea, and he smiles over the rim of his cup as Bucky approaches. Bucky sits at the table, intending to just grin back, but instead blurts out, "Hey, do you maybe wanna go on a date sometime?"  
  
[Curse him and his mouth. He's never been good at watching what he says.]  
  
Steve looks at him, wide eyed, for a moment before setting down his mug. "A date," he repeats.  
  
"Uh, yeah. Like dinner or..." Bucky shifts around uncomfortably in his seat. When Steve doesn't immediately say anything else, Bucky tries to diffuse the situation by saying, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked that, you're probably not g—"  
Steve cuts him off with a smile. "I'd love to."  
  
"Yeah?" Bucky can feel a blush start creeping up his face. He'd be mortified, except red is creeping up on Steve's face, too. He can feel his heart starting to race and it makes him flush. (Oh my god, is his heart murmur from when he was a baby coming back? Is he having a heart attack?)  
  
[No, just nerves. He can't remember the last time he got so giddy, especially over a guy he just met.]  
  
"Yeah," Steve confirms. He pulls out his phone — an iPhone, Bucky notes with a grimace — and futzes around on it for a minute, presumably pulling up his calendar. "How about this weekend?"  
  
Bucky makes a show of himself while he yanks out his own phone, a Samsung. He scrolls through his notes, trying to see if he has anything scheduled. "Perfect," he says. He jabs a thick finger to pull up a new note so he can enter it. "Saturday okay?"  
  
"Perfect," Steve echoes. "You picking or am I?"  
  
"Me," Bucky declares. "I know this great Italian place over on the west side of town. It's to die for."  
  
Steve looks pleased. "That sounds great. Six? And I heard of this great place we can get dessert at afterwards — apparently the cheesecake is really great."  
  
Bucky's practically salivating. "You had me at cheesecake," he cheeks. "I think I'm in love with you already, Steve."  
  
Steve just laughs it off. "I've never had cheesecake, honestly," he confessed. "I heard it from a friend."  
  
"I want to meet this friend of yours," Bucky says. "He sounds great."  
  
"He's definitely something," Steve agrees.  


* * *

...  


* * *

  
Nothing comes into play until Saturday, when Bucky's decidedly early to the restaurant. Steve had wanted to pick him up in his car, but Bucky had declined, and when Bucky had offered to drive Steve, Steve had declined. It had made Natasha laugh when Bucky had told her.  
  
[It had also made her laugh when he'd begrudgingly admitted that they hadn't exchanged phone numbers, either. "We weren't thinking!" he'd defended. Natasha had boofed him over the head and said, "You never think!"]  
  
It's cold out — it's still December, after all — and it makes Bucky shiver. He wraps his coat around himself tighter and yanks his mittens up higher on his wrists. It's not snowing, but it might as well be with how cold it is out. Bucky digs his phone out of his pocket — no easy feat — in order to check the time. When he sees he's still got at least ten minutes to go before Steve arrives, he decides to call Natasha.  
  
"It's really fucking cold out, Nat," he says, still shivering. He starts to hop on the balls of his feet, trying to work up some body heat. It doesn't work. "Tell me again why I'm doing this."  
  
"Another bad date?" someone that's not Natasha guesses.  
  
Bucky groans but keeps hopping from one foot to the other. "I didn't mean to call you. And no, it's not a bad date. Not yet, at least," he tells Phone Guy.  
  
"Not yet? You mean you're skipping out on this date before it's even started?" Phone Guy quips. "Wow, new achievement unlocked."  
  
Bucky rolls his eyes even though Phone Guy can't see him. "No, I'm waiting for him to get here," he says. "But he's really nice — maybe third time's the charm after all?"  
  
"This is at least the fourth time, actually."  
  
Bucky scowls. "The first one doesn't count. Trial run," he defends.  
  
Phone Guy laughs into the receiver. "Okay," he agrees. "Third time's the charm. Where'd you meet the guy this time — online? Coffee shop?"  
  
"No. Somewhere more morbid," he says without elaborating.  
  
"And he's late? Tell me again why you think he's such a nice guy."  
  
Bucky's hand is starting to turn numb from the cold. He shoves it into his pocket and hopes it won't freeze off. "No, I'm early," he corrects. "Like, super early."  
  
"So go inside!" Phone Guy admonishes.  
  
"No," Bucky says stubbornly. "I want to walk in with him."  
  
Phone Guy laughs again. "Fine, it's not my ass that's freezing off," he teases. "Listen, I can't really talk right now. I've got a date of my own tonight." He sounds immensely proud of himself, and Bucky can't help but to snicker a little.  
  
"You gonna call me when it starts going south, return the favor?" Bucky teases.  
  
"Har har," Phone Guy mock-laughs. "No, seriously, I gotta go now. I'm practically at the restaurant, so..."  
  
"I'll cross my fingers for you!" Bucky says. He sees Steve walk around the corner and removes his hand from his pocket to wave. He can see that Steve's on the phone as well, so he doesn't bother shouting out. "My guy just got here, too, so I guess I gotta go as well."  
  
"Hope your date goes well," Phone Guy says.  
  
"You, too," Bucky says, and then he hangs up.  
  
A moment later Steve's off the phone as well, and he makes his way over to Bucky with a big smile on his face. They greet each other enthusiastically — much too enthusiastically for a second meet, but neither of them really care — with bone-crushing hugs. When they finally pull away, Steve asks teasingly, "Setting up dates with other fellas, aren't you?"  
  
"Called a wrong number again," Bucky replies honestly. He ducks into the restaurant when Steve holds open the door for him and then starts systematically pulling off his layers. His hands are freezing cold. "I seem to be doing that a lot lately."  
  
Steve is beside him, stripping off his own coat. "How coincidental," he laughs. "I just got off a call with a wrong number."  
  
"Yeah? Anything interesting?"  
  
Steve hands in his coat to be checked for the night. He helps Bucky slip out of his jacket while he says, "Not this time."  
  
"This time? You get a lot of interesting calls from wrong numbers?"  
  
Steve chuckles. He starts leading Bucky over to the hostess stand so they can get a table. "Just from one number," he admits. "This guy keeps accidentally calling me instead of his friend to talk about how horrible his dates are going."  
  
"How horrible do they usually go?" Bucky tries to keep the conversation going while they're being led to their table. He's curious; Steve's own Phone Guy seems to be having just as much bad luck at dating as Bucky does himself.  
  
Steve waits for Bucky to sit before he takes his own seat across from him. He sips on the provided water for a minute, contemplating, before he finally says, "Relatively horrible. Last date he went on, the guy ran out and left him with the bill."  
  
Bucky winces. He can definitely feel for the guy. "Ouch."  
  
Steve nods solemnly. "Yeah. And the time before that — God, that was awful. They arranged to meet up in a bar, completely normal date, except the date didn't tell him he wanted to meet in the morning, so he got completely bitched out at."  
  
This is starting to feel startlingly familiar. He can't tell if Steve's mystery caller is exactly as bad at getting dates as Bucky is or if there's something else going on. "I had a date like that," he offers. "The guy wouldn't stop talking about himself. I ran out of the place as soon as he turned away."  
  
Steve grins at that, teeth showing. "Good," he points out. "If you stayed, then I might not have you here in front of me right now."  
  
Bucky grins back and reaches for his water cup. He takes a long sip of it, watching Steve from over the rim. With a start, he realizes he really likes this guy — not even twenty minutes into their first conversation and he's falling head-first. He's enraptured.  
  
"True," Bucky concedes.  


* * *

  
When they've finally finished eating — "Leave some room," Bucky had said. "I really want to try that cheesecake." — and have figured out who's paying what, they slip their respective layers back on and leave the restaurant. They walk aimlessly for a bit to try to free off some room in their stomachs, but ultimately double back to get to the place Steve gushed about.  
  
When Bucky sees the building, he laughs. "Junior's," he says. "I love this place. The cheesecake's so good it'll make you—"  
  
"Come your pants," Steve finishes. He looks pleased with himself. "Come on," he adds, starting to walk towards the entrance of the shop.  
  
Bucky can't do anything but stop and stare. He can feel his eyebrows start stitching together in confusion. When Steve turns around to see if Bucky's following, Bucky asks confusedly, "I thought you said you've never had cheesecake before."  
  
Now it's Steve's turn to look confused. "I haven't," he says, his own eyebrows coming together. After a moment, though, he looks like he's had an epiphany. "Wait, is that because— no, my friend told me that. I thought it'd be funny." He looks sheepish.  
  
"It is. It's just... Never mind," Bucky deflects. He lets himself walk towards Steve again, but he's still confused. That phrase is just so familiar, but he can't put his finger on where it had been said before.  


* * *

  
Eventually, they make it home. Steve insists on following Bucky home — following in his car, of course, because why not — so he can give Bucky a proper goodbye. They kiss on the front porch, a little chaste, and then go their separate ways. Steve's all the way in his car when Bucky finally turns to go inside the apartment, and then he swears: " Дерьмо!"

 

> Дерьмо = shit

Natasha's not home. Which shouldn't be surprising, really, but because she'd said she'd be home Bucky hadn't bothered to bring his house key with him.  
  
[Poor planning on his part, really, because he knows he can't fully trust Natasha when Clint's around.]  
  
He digs out his phone to call her, and when he picks up, he asks, "Hey, where are you? The door's locked."  
  
"Forgot your key again?" chirps the answering voice.  
  
Bucky groans. "Twice in one night," he admonishes himself. To Phone Guy, he says sheepishly, "Sorry, man. Hope I'm not interrupting your date."  
  
"Not at all," Phone Guy says. "I just left his house."  
  
"Ooh, so you guys retired to his house after dinner? Sounds sexy," Bucky teases.  
  
Phone Guy laughs. "Not like that," he says, still laughing. "I followed him home in my car from the restaurant so I could kiss him goodbye. Is that weird?" he asks, phone dropping low.  
  
"I could say it is, but I'd be a hypocrite if I did. My guy just did that, too."  
  
"So what you're saying is that your guy is just as old-fashioned as I am," Phone Guy says to confirm.  
  
"Yes," Bucky confirms. He hesitates for a moment, but then asks, "So, since I have nothing to complain about tonight, why don't you tell me about your date?"  
  
Phone Guy's voice immediately went dream. "It was perfect. We went to this little Italian restaurant over on the west side of town — his choice — and then walked around a bit and got cheesecake from that place you suggested. And you were right, by the way — orgasm in my mouth. It was great — I'll have to trust you more."  
  
That sense of familiarity is creeping up Bucky's spine again. "Yeah?"  
  
"Totally," Phone Guy confirms, seemingly oblivious. "The whole date was great. I mean, there was one part where it was a little iffy, but it blew over, so that's whatever."  
  
"Iffy?" Bucky echoes.  
  
"Yeah," Phone Guy says, and Bucky can hear the frown in his phone. "He got a little weird or something when I quoted what you said — the whole 'come in your pants' thing."  
  
This confirms it. This is definitely familiar to Bucky.  
  
And then, because he is totally incapable of keeping his mouth shut, he blurts, "Steve?"  
  
There's a pause, and then a quiet, "Bucky?"  
  
"Yes," Bucky answers automatically. Then he swears and says, "Jesus, Steve, I'm really sorry about this."  
  
Bucky hangs up before he says anything else that's stupid or hears Steve's response.  


* * *

  
They're barely off the phone five minutes when Steve comes careening back around the corner to pull into a stop in Bucky's driveway. Bucky still hasn't gotten ahold of Natasha, still doesn't have a house key, so he's still on the front porch when Steve makes his impromptu — though partially expected — appearance.  
  
His incredibly cheesy appearance, believe it or not.  
  
Bucky doesn't want to look at him. He's embarrassed, flushed red while thinking of all the things he's spilled to Steve.  
  
Steve doesn't seem to mind. Instead, he forces Bucky to look at him and says, "I like to think I have pretty good grammar, being a writer and all."  
  
Bucky's mind has gone blank. "What?"  
  
"And I'm not the best cook, but I know how to make more than just cereal. And I've put up with Sam's shit, so I'm pretty sure I can handle Natasha as well."  
  
[ _That's three out of three_ , Bucky thinks hazily.]  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"And I like dogs — and kids. And action movies and zombie flicks — and action zombie movies."  
  
It's starting to come back to him now. "I—"  
  
"And I like you and I don't think your name is stupid like that one guy did," Steve presses on. "And I liked all those phone conversations we had before I realized it was you."  
  
"And now?" Bucky asks meekly, focusing solely on the word before.  
  
Steve just smiles warmly at him. "I still like them. Except now I have a face to put with the voice."  
  
It hits Bucky like a train. "How come we didn't recognize each others' voices on the phone?"  
  
Steve takes a moment to ponder that. Eventually he decides on, "AT&T sucks?" and shrugs those big, muscular shoulders of his.  
  
Bucky agrees.

* * *

  
Natasha finds them on the front stoop making out — or, as Steve likes to put it, kissing passionately — like teenagers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully my grammar's okay here - I've been busy in school and I might've overlooked it.
> 
> Well, this is the end! I hope you all liked it! Comments, anyone?


End file.
